That Damn Dress
by chocaholic
Summary: When Rory needs help she relies on the assisstance of the one person she knows to be unreliable. TR.
1. Default Chapter

Thanks Nat for betaing and going through paragraphs of nonsense and making it work.  
  
______  
  
It was no doubt the most humiliating experience of her life.  
  
Nothing could come close to comparing, nothing could come close to even the vicinity of comparison.  
  
A crappier way to end a completely crappy day could not have been picked. And this wasn't even an ending, the humiliation had only begun to begin... or began to begun. Damn vowels, it had to be a side effect of the embarrassment; all the blood had rushed to her cheeks instead of her brain. In fact, passing out would have been a very welcome occurrence just about then.  
  
***  
  
Rory Gilmore had woken up that morning, only to be greeted by the pounding sound of rain outside her window. Her bedroom faced the back alley of the apartment building, and once again some bright soul had moved the dumpster out of the shelter in which it had been specifically placed, and right into the path of precipitation.  
  
Rory of all people knew that such a heavy downpour on a part metal, part plastic, large hollow... big thing, did not a good awakening make.  
  
The day continued to get worse with every step she took. Someone up there was trying their damnedest to take her over the edge. She had briefly wondered why it was her this being took pleasure in tormenting, weren't there remote villages in Ethiopia in need of a flood? Instantly, a surge of guilt washed over her at the selfishness of her thoughts, and so she ate breakfast: one slightly burnt cup of coffee, a chocolate-y slice of toast and a huge side dish of guilt. She hadn't even put it on her grocery list but guessed the blasted thing made it through the check out without her notice, and in bulk too.  
  
A New York subway in the winter. There were better ways to spend the morning. The man standing beside her kept breathing down her neck, a matter which made any kind of solace in the otherwise uneventful ride completely impossible because she had worn her favourite scarf, which had only recently been dry-cleaned. Already thoughts of how much it would cost to get the gross mans smelly and creepy breath out of the warmth of the fabric were beginning to plague her mind.  
  
The usual hectic office of the newspaper she was employed at was so uncharacteristically quiet and boring it didn't even deserve a mention.  
  
Night came around and she had once again been assigned the job of going to the stuffy 'social elite' events being held. Her editor knew she hated these assignments, so he sent her on as many as possible.  
  
The black dress she kept at the back of her closet for exactly such occasions had been getting much use as of late. More than she wished it would. Although Rory had to admit, it was nothing for her figure if not flattering. Not something she would say out loud, but when people complimented her on it, said it looked good on her, behind her modest smile, her mind was screaming, 'It damn well better, do you know how much it cost?'  
  
The recent string of parties had become blurred in her mind, and this one proved to be no different. Same people - or the same type at least, same idle gossip, same materialistic ideals.  
  
Her evening seemed to be complete when she realised that her wallet, containing money for a cab, had been tossed aside on the dresser in a frantic search for her left shoe.  
  
Crap.  
  
The terror that had gone through her mind at that moment was unparallel. She couldn't very well walk home, those heels were not made for standing, let alone any sort of extended walking. Observing the loose change lying at the bottom of her purse, the subway seemed the only way to get away from here.  
  
But again, a New York subway, there were better ways to spend an evening.  
  
A tall, dark haired man approached her. After a brief conversation, he construed that the pretty brunette did not want to chat but would much rather be on her way home. Being the gentleman that he was, he offered her a ride there.  
  
She had seen him before. Second cousin of the mayor? Or maybe that was the mayor's second cousin's brother in law's stepfather's son? Whatever, he had been in the gossip columns enough for her to realise he wouldn't try anything too risky.  
  
She accepted.  
  
God knows what came over her, most likely the overwhelming urge to be in the warmth of her bed, snuggling into her favourite pyjamas.  
  
Coincidentally, Rory's saviour had similar designs dancing through his mind. Only in the scenarios he was envisioning, she was not in that bed alone, and her pyjamas were certainly no where in the immediate locale of her body.  
  
Rory had not been accepted into Yale for nothing. It was the power of her quick mind that had gained her the acceptance necessary (and the power of the grandparent's vast bank account, but really, what's that got to do with anything?) As such, she quickly found out the man's less than honourable intentions toward her; his wandering fingers were a dead give away. Panic began to overtake her. She should have taken her chances on the subway. At least you could change carriages and be near a guard when someone undesirable tried to feel you up.  
  
Trying to remain composed and rational, she weighed her options. She could jump from the car, onto the busy streets and rip her dress. Then she'd have to buy a new one. She'd have to think of something else, fast.  
  
Citing random directions, she certainly didn't want him to know where she lived, Rory's mind worked overtime. Suddenly, she realised exactly where they were. The directions that followed were determined and effortless until her somewhat excited, "Here!"  
  
The car stopped, the door flung open and she sprung out. Leaning toward the open door, she ducked her head in and smiled. "I'd love for you to come in, but my boyfriend mightn't be too happy about it."  
  
With that, Rory took off at a sprint onto the walkway of a large two level brownstone. Running up the stairs proved to be a mistake when her heel snapped clean through and she toppled her way onto the landing. Not missing a beat, she scrambled to her feet and banged on the door. "Please be home, please be home." The words flowed like a steady mantra and her prayers were answered with an angry shout from inside.  
  
Moments later, the door was hurled open and she had flung herself onto an unsuspecting... hard... toned... sculpted... No! Just an unsuspecting, body.  
  
There was a squeal of tires from the street and a sigh of relief was emitted. He moved away, angry and grumpy, wasn't that the same thing? Whatever, she would analyse her vocabulary later. Not expecting the sudden shift away from her and still not balanced with her broken heel, she began to fall.  
  
Instead of rushing forward, encasing her in his arms, carrying her to the couch and consoling her, he moved further away avoiding the flailing of her arms and the purse which he knew (from personal experience) to be a weapon of concussion-inducing abilities.  
  
***  
  
And that was how she had ended up face first on the immaculately clean, marble tiled hallway of Tristan Dugrey's home.  
  
Needless to say, the humiliation had only started there.  
  
***  
  
As it had turned out, Tristan had been having a little party of his own. The kind he was infamous for, the kind that involved him, a member of the opposite sex and lots of nakedness.  
  
Fortunately for Rory, he and his lady friend had not gotten into THAT part of the evening just yet. But it was clear that had they forgone this unwanted interruption, it wouldn't have been much longer. So his anger was semi-justified.  
  
Glaring at her from his superior position of standing above her, he made no move to help her from her flat on her face one leaving Rory to make her way clumsily to her feet.  
  
"Is there a reason for you being here?"  
  
She tried to glare, but the anger in his voice did not go unnoticed. She never had been able to take anyone being mad at her. It stemmed from the long period of time in life during which she had been able to do no wrong. That all changed when stupid Tristan came along, again. He'd get pissed, and he'd let her know it. There would be yelling and name calling and then some irritated glares sent her way. It was probably this treatment that had grounded her and made her so attracted to him. He had knocked her straight off the high horse she had seemingly been born riding, and brought the Stars Hollow princess back down to earth. Not that she liked that part. She rather enjoyed walking along on her superior and much higher moral ground.  
  
Tristan on the other hand, had never been able to witness girls crying, especially when he was the cause. By the way Rory's eyes misted over and her bottom lip started to do that trembling thing, it was all he could do to not lean in and run his tongue over it.  
  
The red head standing at the bottom of the stairs behind Tristan in a haphazard state of dress continued to glare at the new comer.  
  
Hugging herself in a pointless effort of protection from the wind blowing at her back, she began the whole sordid tale that led her there, silently congratulating her voice over its stunning display of control over her emotions. When she had finished and he said nothing, but stared at her in that unnerving, analysing way, Rory begun to get a little antsy. Thankfully, he reached over soon enough and instead of pushing her out the door and getting back to business with his date, he shut the door and gestured for her to enter.  
  
"You're okay though, right? He didn't... touch you or anything?"  
  
She smiled triumphantly, on the inside. On the exterior Rory flashed him her best Bambi eyed look and shook her head. Tristan was concerned and Red over there was sulking. Fantastic. He was going to love her for this.  
  
Briefly turning to face his companion for the evening he ordered her to making a cup of coffee while he called a cab. She scowled and trudged toward the kitchen, had a temporary memory relapse and found herself in the bathroom.  
  
Limping to the couch Rory couldn't help but comment, "You sure know how to pick them, Dugrey."  
  
Dammit, mouth, shut the hell up.  
  
"Shut up, Rory. You're not in any position to be making judgements."  
  
So maybe he was still really pissed.  
  
Thrusting the phone into her hands, he instructed she call a cab while he went to bring out a first aid kit to first aid the gash on her knee.  
  
The what on her where?  
  
Looking down, it was discovered that there was indeed a wound, out of which seeped a steady amount of blood. The dress had also been torn at the hem and had some sort of muddy residue caking the front. Perhaps a sign from above that it was time for new apparel?  
  
She dialled, hired, hung up and waited. Tristan returned moments later, closely trailed by the other woman. Charlotte, had he called her?  
  
She offered the coffee with about as much kindness as Luke when delivering Lorelai's fourth cup for the morning, and proceeded to flop into a chair. She did it, to Rory's dismay, with a certain air of grace that confirmed her immaculate and obviously rich background and upbringing.  
  
Forcing Rory onto the couch, he got onto his knee not missing the brief look of pain to cross her face as her knee bent sharply and the pain shot through her. Serves her right. He pushed the dress up her bare legs, and poured the anti-septic onto a cloth, clean she observed, what a thoughtful fellow. With no further warning, the cloth was placed hard against her knee. Off her sharp intake of breath, Tristan was torn between his gleeful feeling of vengeance and the concerned guilt that were vying 50/50 in his conscience.  
  
With in moments, the latter had won out and he chastised himself for being so weak as he began to blow on her knee in an effort to reduce the pain. The hand that was not holding the torture provoking cloth began to make slow soothing circles on her thigh.  
  
He desperately tried to harbour the urge to let his hand wander further up her leg and stray from soothing to intimate. Any other time, it would not have been a problem and they'd end up going at it on the carpet. Which reminded him that just moments before Rory's interruption, he had been going at it with the partially ignored partially pissed off woman sitting to his left. Rory was not going to forget this little experience any time soon. He wasn't going to let her.  
  
Although he had to admit, it was a nice feeling knowing that she would come to him in the midst of such a crisis. He was beginning to regret the whole calling a cab thing though. She had just escaped a would be rapist and he was encouraging her to get into a car with a could be rapist. Or worse. He had seen 'The Bone Collector'.  
  
"The cab will take forever to get here, I'll drive you home."  
  
Charlotte made a disapproving sound from elsewhere in the room, but because she wasn't important at this stage neither Tristan or Rory took any notice of her.  
  
_______ I'm not to sure where this is going so if you have any suggestions... 


	2. Two

Thank you soooo much for all your reviews =) They were most appreciated. And thanks for all those people who offered help with where I should take this, big thumbs up to you guys. 

And of course, I Love Nat. She beta-ed this and taught me many valuable grammar lessons in the process for future reference. Good on ya, Nat. 

____ 

Tristan's grand gesture of driving her seemed to brighten the evening right up. Unfortunately, on the way out the door she happened to chance upon a mirror and venture a peek at herself. 

Big mistake. 

How the hell did she get so messed up? At which point in the evening did her hair stray from the stylish design which she had so painstakingly put it in? When had her mascara found the time to run a turbo charged super across her face? And Rory certainly didn't remember applying dirt across her cheeks and nose. 

By the way Tristan glared at her for having dared stopped to investigate her Appearance, something told her now was not the time to take a quick bathroom break to powder her nose. 

Grudgingly, she was led out of the house and almost forced into the car. She was not a child. Getting into a car independently was only one of her many skills. She could do it with both eyes closed. How dare he take it upon himself to impede on her masterful talent. This was not on. At all. 

But it was sweet of Tristan to assist, just in case she was too hurt or something. What a gentleman, she rolled her eyes. 

As he made his way around the car to get into the drivers seat, Rory concentrated on making herself as light as possible. Heaven knows what Tristan would say if she were to smudge all that dirt and grime onto his flawless leather seating. 

Fortunately for Rory, the leather was black and any muddy imprints made by her ass could easily be covered up and cleaned away. Besides, she reasoned, he hadn't given her a chance to clean up or even grab some sort of rag to sit on, so really, it was his fault completely. That idiot, ruining his shiny cars interior. No woman in her right mind would sit on a mud encrusted seat, especially not the type of woman Tristan went for. 

So deep were her thoughts of car interiors and exactly the kind of woman that was Tristan's type, she didn't notice what was going on outside until the yells penetrated her mind. 

"- about the cab?" The screechy red haired Charlotte was flailing her arms like a mad woman. Her half unbuttoned shirt slipping further and further down her body until Rory was sure it was illegal to be out in public like that. Then again, with fashion as it was nowadays, one never could be sure of just what was considered indecent exposure. 

"I can't just let her get into a cab with god knows who, not in the condition she's in!" 

Ah Tristan, her knight in shining armor. Scratch that, he was more like her pissed off knight in Calvin Klein jeans. 

She decided not to dwell to long on how she knew that he wore that specific designer brand. It was obvious how, Calvin Klein had billboards all over the city, and she just memorized them by accident. Certainly she had never actually thought to long about his pants, or the way they seemed to be magnetically placed to his hips. None of the CK models ever looked so natural in them. She had decided that maybe old Calvin had once seen Tristan strutting the streets of New York and with his frame in mind, designed the jeans specifically for him. 

Or maybe he just looked good in jeans. 

Either way, she didn't pay enough attention to notice or anything. Really. 

"- just wait here...please." 

"It's me or her Tristan. I will not be here when you get back." 

Uh oh. 

It looked as if she'd have to catch a cab after all. She had seen the look Tristan gave the tramp when he asked her wait. Hell, she knew that look from what seemed like millenniums ago when it was directed at her. Tristan liked Charlotte. 

And that prospect frightened and annoyed Rory more than the one which involved her, a smelly car and an even smellier cabby. She had known from the numerous apologetic looks he threw the girl every now and then. He had never liked anyone before. Slept with them, sure. But never LIKED them. This was too weird and strangely enough, upsetting. 

She watched nervously as Tristan looked between the two of them. His half naked date, standing shivering in the doorway. Eyes wide with unshed tears, her perfectly sketched face in a genuine expression of hurt...and Rory, the girl who screwed him over every time he felt he was getting somewhere. The girl who broke his heart on more occasions than he could remember. The girl who was currently dirtying up his brand new interior with her slutty black dress, her hair looking as if she hadn't washed it in months and her make up running every which way. 

Tough decision. 

For one terrifying moment Rory resigned herself to the fact he was going to leave her to catch a cab like originally planned. But for the umpteenth time that evening, Tristan came through for her. 

She strained to here his quiet words as he headed to the car. 

"Close the door on your way out." 

*** 

"Do you want to come in?" 

Her hesitant question was met with a glare and a grunt. He made his way toward the couch as she closed the door as quietly as possible, afraid that any noise might set him off on the tirade that was obviously brewing inside him like some freak tornado. 

She tried to analyze his next move logically. No point there, the words Tristan and logical were about as synonymous as Rory and decaf. 

He sat down heavily, his elbows on his knees, obviously deep in thought. A sigh of frustration and she watched as his head landed in his hands and his fingers tugged at the fuzzy blonde hair. 

Suddenly, he was up and trailing closer. Rory moved backward as Tristan stalked his way toward her, fixing her with a cold stare. Crap, she was really in for it now. If there was anything Rory had learnt from their more than turbulent relationship, it was that Tristan's anger came in bulk, not unlike her guilt. 

"Tristan-" 

"Shut up Rory, just shut the fuck up and listen to me." She winced at the obviously strained control in his voice, knowing he was working his way up to the grand finale. Hopefully he'd get there soon. "You've ruined everything for me the second you came into my life. Taken it all away." 

He moved closer with each word and Rory found herself backed up to the kitchen counter. Her breakfast plate just as she had left it that morning, the remote lying upside down as she had hurried to make it into work on time. 

"Why the fuck did you have to waltz into my life, huh? I ask myself that every day, and every damn day I can't for the life of me figure out anything good that has come of it." His eyes were blazing, he was so close she could see her own pathetic reflection in the stormy blue eyes. He continued, adding insult to injury, "which is pretty sad, seeing as how fucking you can be the highlight of my day." 

He didn't appear ashamed in the least to use such foul language in front of a lady, but she was nevertheless embarrassed to hear it. The redness spreading through her was enough for her to blush for the both of them. 

"Tonight has been the last straw, Rory. I swear it. I was having a good night with my GIRLFRIEND - that's right, she WAS my girl, and given time who knows how much more she could have been. But then you HAD to come barging in like you always do, because you're in fuckin' trouble, again!" 

By this time he was pressed right up against her, shouting in her face. Abruptly, he took a step back and looked at the dress she wore in distaste. "no wonder that guy felt obliged to feel you up," his finger hooked under on of the thin black straps, pulling at it roughly, "you look like a hooker." 

Rory's eyes went wide at the insult. She had never heard Tristan being so purposefully mean to anyone, let alone her. She tried to recoil from his touch, but that only served to lower her onto the bench top as his hands roamed her frame. She closed her eyes against his offensive words and concentrated rather on his hands, pretending that what he was doing was not out of spite, but out of some sort of frenzied passion. 

"A slut. Is this what you usually wear when you go to work, Rory? Is it? No fucking wonder that he tried his luck." 

What Rory had mistaken to be a resolve of not pursuing their intimate relationship went straight out the window with those words. He had ripped the dress off without so much as a second glance to the abused garment and lowered himself over her in a bruising kiss. 

She wanted to protest, but that feeling she got whenever their lips met came back. It was a mixture of tingles, happiness and the way you feel after you've just had a really nice dinner. Although his lips were almost attacking hers, forcing her mouth open, she managed a smile as she realized that his hands were tenderly pacifying the bare skin of her back, keeping her at a safe distance from the cold of the counter and the sharp edge which only moments ago was wreaking havoc on the small of her back. 

*** 

The details were a little hazy, but at some point during the night they had found their way from the kitchen and onto the couch. 

Or maybe she had found her own way there, because when Rory woke up the next morning, Tristan was gone - as he usually was after they had sex. She hadn't expected anything more really, no, honestly she really hadn't. Just because he whispered his love for her every time they were together didn't mean he'd see an entire night through. There would be no difference this time. 

She lay on the couch, staring out the window. Rain, again. The glass had gotten foggy and upon her enthusiastic encouragement the landlord had moved the dumpster back where it belonged. Regrettably, the silence gave her time to think about things that would rather not be thought about. Tristan, for example. 

Deciding on indulging herself in breakfast at the cafe down the block (i.e. McDonalds), Rory started to make her way off the couch, but promptly fell back down groaning. 

She had underestimated his stamina yet again, and his strength. Lifting her arm, Rory inspected the slightly red bruises where he had held her tight. He may protect her from coming into contact with uncomfortable surfaces, but he didn't seem to understand that his own hands could also have the same effect the next morning. Although she strongly suspected that he knew exactly what he was doing whenever he put any sort of mark upon her skin during sex. Undoubtedly, there were similar ones canvassing her entire body. They had had their fare share of rough sex, more often than not initiated by Rory - much to Tristan's surprise and ultimately, his pleasure - but last night...she'd be lying if she said she didn't enjoy it, but he had never been that rough. 

Stupid, sex crazed bastard 

He had no right to expect her to have sex with him, just because she had ruined whatever sex he had planned for the evening. Her progress off the couch was admittedly slower this time round. A scowl on her face and the phone in her hand, she rapidly dialed his number. 

Examining her reflection in the full length mirror - courtesy of Tristan ("you're too pretty to just see your face." He had said.) She scowled again as she saw the bruises on her butt. 

She turned back into the living room, a bathrobe covering her slight frame and stared aghast at the coffee table. Rory Gilmore had never had a real problem with money and the getting of it. But she wouldn't have been upset at discovering a few extra dollars she hadn't known she had, but as it were, there were a couple extra hundreds lying on her coffee table. 

The bastard had left money. This was taking the hooker comment just a little too far, Rory fumed. 

After a few more moments of listening to the phones annoying ringing tone she realized no one was going to answer. Hanging up she glared at the phone and redialed knowing he wouldn't turn it off in case a client called. Oh yes, she would make him regret the day he ever met Lorelei Leigh Gilmore. Not that he didn't regret it already; he had made that all too clear. 

Her eyes squeezed shut as the tears battled their way to the front line at the reminder of just what her supposed friend actually thought of her. 

Slightly sad, but feeling a whole wave of resentment toward him coming over her, she furiously punched in the number of his office. 

"Dugrey and Edwards, Agatha speaking" 

"Tristan Dugrey, please." 

"I'm sorry; Mr. Dugrey is in a meeting at the moment. If you would leave a message, he will get back to you as-" 

"This is extremely important and can not wait. Please tell Tristan his mother is on the line." 

A slight pause and then, "One moment, Mrs. Dugrey." 

Mrs. Dugrey? Was it wrong for her to smile at the thought? 

Yes. Very wrong. After all, he was- 

"Mother, what's going on? Is Dad okay?" 

Rory stuck her tongue out at the phone, feeling only slightly remorseful for playing on his vulnerabilities as such. 

"Your father is fine, Dear." She mimicked the prim and slightly British accent of Elizabeth Dugrey perfectly. 

"Rory? Fuck, I'm in a meeting." 

She heard his barely contained rage and all satisfaction at pissing him off was gone, immediately replaced with a cold hatred for his very being. "We need to talk. Meet me at one." 

There was a moment of silence before he hung up. 

_________ 

Hey there, I'll just apologize now that that this chapter took so long to get out. I don't have a good enough excuse so I won't bother with making one up. The next chapter might take a while, too - I have an excuse for this one, though. Notepad, where I type everything out on is currently having some technical difficulties and all the settings have been changed and it's just not the same, see? So sorry for that in advance. 

Review? 


	3. Three

Hi there. I'm back. And I would like to apologise a thousand times over for taking so bloody long. I have many excuses, but I'll save them for a later date. Thanks goes out to Nat, not only for betaing this but because she is very smart and knows the answers to everything. She also puts up with my demands (never does anything about them, but she does put up with them) and doesn't cause me any bodily harm 'cause I'm pretty annoying. So if you review think of Nat and take a few seconds to tell her she kicks major ass because otherwise you'd be reading complete crap.   
  
So after much editing and tweaking and deleting and rewriting, here you go:

* * *

God, did the day just get worse and worse?   
  
The endless meetings droned on, the folders of paperwork piled higher, hours ticked by - long after he was supposed to be home.   
  
The usual diner he stopped by to pick up dinner was closed - damn proper business hours, traffic was... he lived in New York. Of course, it was raining, worse than it had been in the last few weeks. Tristan breathed a sigh of relief and exhaustion when his house came into view. Finally he could get into bed and just sleep for the rest of his life and why the fuck were the lights on?   
  
.............  
  
For the second day in a row, Tristan Dugrey opened his front door - albeit this time with a little more caution - only to be confronted with the site of a drenched messed up Lorelai Leigh Gilmore.   
  
Mentally slapping himself for not staying longer at the office or for that matter, not changing the locks, he tried to stall the inevitable by leisurely taking off his coat. He wasn't sure if turning his back on her at the moment was the appropriate course of action, seeing as she was certainly pissed about the whole standing her up thing that afternoon, but he was sure that she would see it as a clear statement of defiance and an utter lack of concern for her opinion. God, why did she always have to analyse EVERYTHING?   
  
The time came, moments after the jacket was flawlessly hanging on the hook, where he could no longer avoid the unavoidable. As such, he turned to her, eyebrow raised just so, face set in his Patronising Expression. Yes, he had a multitude of facial expressions reserved for just such an occasion, or an occasion of this magnitude, but patronising seemed to be the one to go with right now.   
  
"What are you doing in my house?"   
  
She didn't miss the slight emphasis on the 'my' that he inserted into that question. Bastard.   
  
Nonchalantly rising from her current seemingly relaxed position, Rory glanced at the arm chair she had just vacated. Excellent, there was a huge wet imprint of where she had...accidentally sprawled all over. Tristan's favourite chair, too. Shame.   
  
Turning back to face him, she glared and quickly applied her Dealing-With-Tristan face; self-righteousness. She stomped over to him, each step deliberate as the anger rose up inside. Stopping mere inches away from him, she quickly pondered if it was wise to stand so close given that he was so much taller than her. Yes, it was wise. He needed to experience the full impact of her anger. And that was something that could not be fully understood from a distance.   
  
Glaring, she shoved the money he had left earlier in his chest making sure that it would bruise slightly, satisfied when he stumbled backward looking shocked.   
  
Her anger seemed to simmer away when she looks into his wide confused eyes. Something in her stomach fell and it was as if a sudden pressure was applied just below her throat. She was NOT going to cry in front of him.   
  
"God Tristan, why would you do this? What exactly are you trying to prove? Because I already know that you're a selfish bastard. I know that you get off on seeing the pain of others. Believe me, I know! But why-"   
  
By this time, Tristan had recovered considerably from his initial shock and jumped back in the ring, mystified and slightly pissed off. But before he would yell and tell her off properly, he would have to find out what the fuck had gotten her so mad. "What the hell are you on about, woman?"   
  
Rory stared at him mouth wide with shock. "How. Dare. You." The words were spoken quietly and deliberately. "You seem to think that you can just take whatever you want, whenever you want. What you did last night was unforgivable, and this morning..." she seemed to momentarily lose fire, but quickly regained it, "I can't believe I ever loved someone as cruel as you."   
  
"Cruel? What are you talking about? I don't understand why you're mad, you were more than willing to have me fuck you senseless and you know it! And to think I even went so far as to pay for the fucking dress."   
  
"You... the money was for the dress?"   
  
"What the hell do you think it... oh." He sighed in resignation. "Do you really think I'd do that?" The anger was gone from his voice, replaced with a sort of wounded confusion.   
  
Rory ignored the resignation and hurt in his voice, "I wouldn't put you above paying for sex." She sneered.   
  
Tristan's eyes widened at the scathing remark, and then narrowed in anger. With a last glare that would have left a lesser being shaking for fear of having their throat slashed, he turned, walked toward the door and hurled it open. Without words, he jerked his head toward the outside world.   
  
She looked aghast, was he kicking her out? A glance toward the door proved the weather to have gotten worse as a tree outside swayed dangerously close to the ground. In that weather? Rory looked toward Tristan for confirmation and watched in horror as he raised an expectant eyebrow. "The longer you stand there, the colder it gets in here. Get out."   
  
Her insides turned cold at yet another prospect of having to walk to the subway in the rain. This was becoming a rather disturbing habit. Never the less, he was not going to see her upset about this. She grabbed her jacket and marched outside as if this was the way she had planned it all along.   
  
All her bravado faded quickly as she stepped outside and was slammed with the freezing cold wind and the icy sharp rain that pelted against her face. Intending to apologize she turned only to have the door slam in her face. Taking a deep breath and wrapping the coat as close as possible she began to hastily walk in the direction of the subway, not liking how the trees and bushes around her moved in ways that horror movies had taught would leave her open to fall victim of a crazed serial killer. Rory walked faster.   
  
.............  
  
Tristan leaned against the door and took a deep calming breath.   
  
She brought out the worst in him. It was a well acknowledged fact.   
  
His head snapped up as a loud thunderous crack was heard from outside. Opening the door once more he observed as an overhead branch was struck down by lightning and fell lifeless to the ground, where the wind blew it mercilessly toward the road and back again.   
  
His eyes were drawn to the street where a huddled figure was crossing the road. Shit, that wasn't... it was. As lightning once more cracked through the sky, the face was illuminated in a blinding white moment. Why the fuck couldn't she be normal and just drive a car?   
  
Sighing, he left the warm safety of his home and jogged after her.   
  
Were all women this stupid? Who the hell would wear heels in this weather? Momentarily, Tristan was at a loss as to work out why he had conceived a desire for this monumentally stupid person.   
  
He effortlessly caught up to her and grabbed her elbow, she shrieked and tried to pull away, but her foot slid across the slippery pavement and caught on a crack, sending one leg in an unnatural direction while the other slid out from in front of her. A crack of plastic and she winced as the pain shot up her leg and it was at that moment it became clear - she would have to by some new shoes. Someone up there REALLY didn't like her wardrobe. What was up with that?   
  
Rory's elbow was released, and instead she was lifted in sturdy arms. When they didn't stop as her feet reached the ground, she once again began to panic. Within moments, Rory found herself being flung over a shoulder and bouncing slightly as her hero began to storm back toward his house.   
  
Once inside, he carelessly threw her onto the couch and surveyed the damage done to her ankle.   
  
"Where were you going?"   
  
A pause, "Home."   
  
Tristan so badly wanted to remind her that this WAS home. Up until a few months ago at least.   
  
"How were you getting there?"   
  
"The subway." What was this, twenty questions?   
  
"Why do you even HAVE a car? You never use it."   
  
"...I sold it."   
  
He was genuinely hurt at that. He had got her that car as an engagement gift. "You... sold it?"   
  
"I had to make a few ends meet." Why was she telling him this, it wasn't as if he needed to be aware of her financial situations anymore, he wasn't a part of them. Yet she found herself wanting to give a justifiable explanation.   
  
"You could have asked-"   
  
"Asking my ex for money, somehow I didn't see that happening."   
  
He winced slightly at her bitter tone.   
  
"Why did you come after me?"   
  
Tristan paused before letting his gaze drop to survey the carpet, Rachel - his elderly house keeper, did a fantastic job keeping it clean and brand new looking, he'd have to give her a raise. "I didn't want you to go." He was silent another moment before continuing, "I didn't think you would, I thought you would bitch me out and yell. And..." he stopped a moment, seemingly choosing his next words. Rory's eyes widened with anticipation as he began to speak once more, this time lowering his voice to a mixture of indignation and bitterness, "I wanted to tell you that I have never in my life paid for sex."   
  
She pushed the phenomenal surge of disappointment into some far off region in her mind where it could be dealt with at a later date and instead laughed at the comment.   
  
What followed was an awkward silence, made all the worse by the acknowledgement that it was indeed awkward, and both parties trying desperately to think of something to say.   
  
The spell was broken as Tristan stood suddenly "I'll get you a towel and some clothes, you'll sleep here tonight. I'll take you home tomorrow."   
  
She was about to protest at his arrogant expectation, but he walked from the room at an extremely fast pace, making the possibility of voicing any complaints as he knew she would quite impossible. He returned in a blur of white fluff and dropped three thick towels by her side.   
  
"Is this your subtle way of telling me I've gained enough weight to take up so many towels?"   
  
He smirked "well, I wasn't going to say anything but now that you've mentioned it..." his eyes travelled down her slim body and back to her wet face. The reminder of the easy banter and flirtation that had once been became yet another uncomfortable silence as both immediately averted their eyes to opposite sides of the room and chuckled nervously. Rory new he'd be running his hand though his hair and stopping at the back of his neck to try and work out the tension. Tristan new her hands would be rapidly twisting the hemline of her shirt into contorted disfiguration. It's funny how they could remember such insignificant details of each others personalities. Then again, living with a person will make you more aware of them.   
  
As she stood up to head for the bathroom, Tristan handed her sleeping attire. He gave her a nervous smile and explained, "I couldn't find anything of yours."   
  
Rory glanced at the grey sweat pants and the large blue shirt which her mother had given him one Christmas morning years ago. The grey picture in the middle was of a memory she would rather not revisit, and she briefly wondered why he had kept it.   
  
Eyes watering, she grabbed the clothes and made her way to the bathroom.   
  
.............  
  
Morning came and Rory made sure to get up before Tristan would even begin to stir. She showered and dressed with such haste, she surprised herself. There went her last excuse for being constantly late for work seeing as she was indeed capable of getting ready in under fifteen minutes. Sneaking out proved harder than Rory had anticipated as Tristan had fallen asleep on the couch, but her retreat was successful despite the unforseen obstacle.   
  
The train ride back to her apartment was sufficient time to get her thoughts in order and ponder the previous nights events. Instead, her mind kept dragging her back into the past and bringing up things she would rather stay down. She would much rather her stomach bring up the breakfast she had just consumed. Tristan may have been the ultimate ladies man but he was a lousy cook, as was proof of the left overs in his fridge from what must have been yesterday morning's breakfast.   
  
Deciding against thinking about Tristan's culinary skills while in a crowded moving vehicle, her mind instead travelled to yesterday. He hadn't met her as she had requested.   
  
An hour she was there in the little cafe waiting awkwardly. She was positive that the people around were giving her strange and sympathetic looks. She couldn't believe he hadn't shown up. Well, actually she could but she'd rather not.   
  
That afternoon she had taken a cab to his house and quickly uncovered the spare key. If she couldn't chew him out in public, she'd damn well let him have it in his home.   
  
Tristan had reverted back to the way he once was - the Chilton Tristan and even worse, the College Tristan, back when his major was Asshole 101. She had been pretty sure that he would be running the class in no time flat.   
  
Secretly though, she didn't blame him. She blamed the blasted and cursed laundry room in which they had gotten reacquainted. That room seemed to turn any guy walking into it from a decent human being whose company she might otherwise enjoy, into a cold prick with no respect for clothing or anything else really.   
  
Rory had entered carrying her big blue laundry basket, intent on quickly gathering her clothes and getting back to writing her paper. But upon entering, she quickly discovered that her clothes were hastily being torn from the machine and shoved onto the neighbouring one, many falling to the floor in the process.   
  
Even then he hadn't had much respect for clothing, tossing it about like nobody's business, not caring that most of it was finding its way to the suspiciously dirty cement floors.   
  
When he grabbed her new pink sweater and carelessly aimed it to his side, that's when she had decided that she hated him and that this person before her, was definitely a very... mean person. Of course, she was right but she didn't really know it.   
  
"Excuse me, what exactly do you think you are doing?"   
  
He didn't even have the courtesy to turn around as he answered "In the laundry room?" He gestured to his own hamper of clothing, "With dirty clothes? I have no idea."   
  
"Yes well, who's clothes are those?" she nodded in the direction of the garments he had messily strewn over on his right "Somehow I don't think they're yours."   
  
He finally turned to her, a ready smirk on his face and a cruel devious gleam in his eyes. He held up a pair of her badly multicoloured underwear covered with comical sound effects, "I should hope not. Are they yours?" He trailed off as his eyes seemingly gravitated toward her jeans.   
  
And then, it dawned on her. As randomly as that she knew his name. Tristan Dugrey, she'd know that leer a mile away.   
  
He, on the other hand, did not recognise her. It must be the haircut, I do look different she rationalised.   
  
Stalking forward, she grabbed the underwear and began picking her clothing off the floor and dumping it into the basket. What was it about this laundry room that brought out the worst in everyone?   
  
He watched her silently, amused at the frustrated way she thrust clothes back into her basket. Instantly he knew that this was someone he would have to frustrate on a regular basis, in a sudden moment of déjà vu, he realised this was someone he used to frustrate on a regular basis.   
  
"I did, however, like this little number." He bent over and retrieved a black silky nightgown -a joke from Lorelai -that was short enough to be considered lingerie. Blushing furiously, she grabbed at it and shoved it to the bottom of her hamper. Gathering the last of her clothing, she began to make her way from the room, silently fuming.   
  
"Wait," Rory stopped and turned her head slightly, he jogged over to her, "you forgot this."   
  
Keeping his gaze trained on hers, he put the flowery skirt on top of the pile.   
  
"Thanks."   
  
They exchanged another look and she quickly exited.   
  
Later, while sorting through her clothing, Rory lifted the skirt from the top of the pile. As she shook it out, a small piece of cardboard fell from it and onto her bed. At first glance, it appeared to be a stray part of the communal laundry detergent box. As she bent to pick it up her gaze fell upon writing on the back.   
  
She read it, confusion on her face and then suddenly, she smiled slightly and pocketed the cardboard.   
  
.............  
  
At present Rory glanced out the train window. The skyline of the city was coming into view and her stop was soon. Searching her handbag she quickly located the black wallet and opened it. In a small zipped compartment with at least a dozen crinkled receipts, Rory spotted what she was looking for. She pulled the worn piece of thin cardboard out and unfolded it. Why she had kept it all these years was a mystery. At first she just never remembered to throw it out, but after almost six months of going out with the bearer of the small token, it had gathered a more sentimental value. An amusing reminder of how his months of trying to impress her at Chilton and his hard efforts were all brought down to one factor.   
  
Now however, it was worthless, a painful reminder of something she no longer had. As Rory walked off the train, her fingers loosened their grip and the cold blast of wind from the open entrance at the other end of the station blew the paper into the space between the train and the platform. She took it as a sign.   
  
The words that always brought a smile to her face and a warm feeling to her stomach fluttered and tore as the train sped away. Three words and a cell number.   
  
Mary, call me.   
  
He had recognised her after all.

* * *

Right, so, yeah. That was a pretty weak chapter as chapters go, but I'm trying to get back on track. Review? 


	4. Four

Hi! Despite evidence to the contrary, I _will _finish this story at some point during my life. Also, apologies to everyone for the unexplained hiatus, I'm really sorry. Unfortunately, this chapter is slightly more filler than anything, but at least it's something, right? Right? Right.

As always, thanks Nat. She sat through her lunch break betaing and being all pouty (I'm sure) and making everything legible. I love her sometimes. And 'cause she said this bit here should be full of gushing praise for her: Nat, you're so so so so so so so soooo beautiful. And your hair is so silky and shiny. And you have really nice shoes 

Hope you all like.

* * *

There had been few times in Rory's life to which she could attribute the special brand of'_I have never wanted to kill myself more than I do today_', usually accompanied by thoughts on the quickest and most convenient form of death.

These usually only lasted a day or so before tapering off into various corners of her mind and then being filed away neatly when she had cooled down. Her first week of Chilton had been the longest in which she had entertained these thoughts.

Never in Rory's life could she think of anything worse than the humiliation of being the new girl, the illegitimate daughter, behind in her studies, being of lesser social standing then everyone around her, and being pursued by someone who was (then) very undesirable. However, the events of the current month had it running miles ahead in first place for the rank of 'I Want To Kill Myself Somebody Hand Me A Knife, Please.'

First the whole Tristan Debacle from earlier this month. She was still trying to get over the embarrassment of her misunderstanding and the guilt at accusing him. There seemed to be a steady rhythm and flow of Tristan Related Debacles since she was sixteen - so she always had something to blame her misery on - and therefore, the month just wouldn't be considered complete without his unwanted interference. As such, Tristan was usually put out of the picture when she was judging how bad her day was because with him, it was a given.

This was just one of those tests that god always randomly assigned to unsuspecting (and undeserving) people to see how strong their endurance was. This had to prove that she was the strongest person in the entire history of the world. Rory was positive no one had ever gone through anything worse.

Tristan encounters aside, she had relocated to the trashiest magazine on the planet. This was not a choice she was pleased with having to be faced with, but it was something that had to be done. They had offered her a very impressive salary were she to join them, although her writing range would be limited from the norm. Usually Rory would have said no instantly, the paper she was with allowed her freedom to write anything she so chose, and as of late, she had found herself in desperate need of extra cash as rent increased and her wages were not nearly sufficient. So she had grudgingly accepted and been placed into a large 'office' with seemingly every other employee and at least three boisterous women in her immediate vicinity.

That alone, on a scale of 1 to 10, would have given the month about a 6.5 - she'd worked with the loud and annoying before and on good days could tune them out completely. But coupled with the inane articles about weight and how to lose it to gain the attention of the right people and the Jennifer/Brad/Angelina ongoing saga and the constant ringing of all the phones around her and the… sent it soaring to fifty.

The final event on her calendar for the month (and the year) was her grandparents New Years Eve shindig (although they grimaced every time Lorelai called it anything but a Social Event), and Rory expected it to be the grand finale of irritation, humiliation and all out crapiness that the month had been. _Damn_, she thought, _this is going to go out with one big bang_ If she only knew the irony in how right she was.

**xxx**

The phone was on the dashboard. The dashboard was in the car. So was the dress. The car was outside in the driveway. She was inside the house. Up the stairs, in her room, in her bathroom, in her bathrobe. The maid had taken the clothes she had worn inside to put through the wash by request of her grandmother. And the damnphone was in the damncar!

_This is okay. Nothing big. Calm down, breath, now then think. I'm at grandma's house and I need to get to my dress. I'm in my room at grandma's house and I can't go downstairs because most of the guests are here and I'm in a bathrobe_- well duh. This situation was so totally fixable. This was her room in her grandmother's house. She had clothes here. Nothing to worry about.

A moment later, it was once more apparent that there _was_ something to worry about. The once full closet was empty. Rory vaguely remembered something about a moth problem months earlier. They forgot to put her clothes back. Brilliant. This is what happens when the maids were changed like sheets. Stuff was forgotten.

She couldn't very well waltz down the stairs and out the front door, not in front of all her grandfather's business associates. _Stupid rain_. If it hadn't of been raining when she got there she could have taken the pretty dress out of the car, but as the sprinkle turned into a steady downpour...well, Rory didn't want yet another one of her garments to get ruined due to the forces of nature.

Moving to her bedroom window she pulled it open and glanced outside. Her room was at the back of the house, on the side. The window on this wall gave her a view of the shady side of the darkened garden and just down the other end Rory could make out her car, sitting in semi darkness. Moving to the adjacent wall she glanced out the glass doors of the balcony. The view of the large backyard spread before her, luckily it was empty.

Opening the doors Rory stepped outside, the cold quickly biting into her skin causing her to pull the warm robe closer and fasten it a bit tighter. She surveyed all possible escape routes and moments later came up with the least dangerous one. She took a deep breath and cautiously swung a leg over the thin metal rails of the balcony. Rory had never been an athletic person. She could run and stuff, but only did so when it was absolutely neccessary. There were only a handful of times when climbing was something she absolutely could not get out of, and unfortunately each time she had failed miserably. Not to mention the rails were wet and almost iced over in the freezing weather.

Another deep breath and she was fully over the ledge. Holding on tightly, Rory glanced behind her for the small pipe that stuck out from the wall. If she could get both feet on it, she would be able to lower her body onto the covering of the patio and it would serve as a makeshift ladder to the bottom. The house had seemed to grow in the moments from when she was standing calculating the height to now, and the ground below seemed awfully far away.

Deciding it best to not look, she leaned back a little still holding on as tight as she could and extended her foot behind her, feeling for the pipe. Once she had found it and secured her foot, Rory set about doing so with her other leg as well. This proved to be harder as now her entire body weight was supported by nothing more then her arms and one leg that was awkwardly positioned on a slippery, two inches in diameter pipe.

It took a few life threatening tries, but finally she was steady enough to start lowering her hands. Adjusting her bodyweight accordingly, Rory crouched down ever so slowly. When her hands got as far as the vertical railing of the balcony allowed, Rory secured her grip and hesitantly let one foot down, and then the other. After seconds of swinging wildly in mid air, she let go and thudded heavily onto the patio roof. Regaining her footing she glanced upward and smiled at her athletic feat. This was all very _Alias_. Now came the easier part of her journey. Walking to the edge, Rory carefully leaned over and peaked around the side of the wall. Success! Her car was parked right down the end of the narrow passage way. And bonus, it was now cast in shadows to ensure the rest of the voyage was covert and incognito. Swinging herself over the roof she began climbing down the trellis.

Suddenly, disaster struck - there were no more gaps to step in. glancing down nervously Rory noted she was still several feet from the ground. If the weather had been dry and she had been wearing more suitable footwear, she would have risked the jump. Tonight, in the dark and the wet, Rory had no way of ensuring that she would land on the pavement and not on the edge of the pebbled stairs. Once again her legs swung about wildly and she hoped to god no one would pass below as underwear was something she had stupidly forgone for this special wall scaling occasion. To her horror, Rory realized her fingers were slowly losing grip and at any moment she would fall like a sack of potatoes to the hard ground below. Clenching her eyes shut she was about to let go and take her chances when two sturdy hands gripped her thighs.

"I've got you."

Letting go, Rory let herself be lowered to the ground, her eyes still shut tight. She had recognized the voice instantly, of course.

Tristan. Now her month was definitely complete.

"The invitation said casual Gilmore, not naked."

The comment led her to wonder exactly how much he had seen before deciding to help. Opening her eyes, she decided it better not to meet his and instead settled for a scowl at the condescending tone he was taking with her. Rory turned and stomped to the car, clenching her jaw as he followed.

"Leaving already? The party was just getting interesting." She heard his sly remark and felt him get closer before he ran a hand over her terry cloth covered ass, "Obviously you were having fun, too. Lost your panties already?"

Rory struggled to remain calm and checked the urge to slap him, not wanting to being in the new year with violence, "No," she managed to bite out through clenched teeth. "I just enjoy walks in the dark in my bathrobe."

"In that case you'll need company - somebody to protect you from all those perverts hunting on pretty girls." He tugged playfully at her hair, causing her irritation to rise twofold. _Deep breaths. There's no use of getting worked up, he just uses it as ammo._

"You're solution to this is having me-"

"That's my solution to everything."

"-_having me_walk around with said perverts in hopes that the others back off in respect of their leader?"

Tristan was about to comment when he saw she was no longer walking in front of him, but now sat crouched in between her car and the bushes, steadily banging her head against the tire.

"There a problem, or is this another one of your little rituals?"

"My keys..." she gestured upward in the general direction of her room.

He sighed, "Relax, I'll get them."

**xxx**

"Rory, I'm glad you've come down dear." Emily's cheerful voice rang from behind the pair as they piled their plates high with appetizers. She turned to glance at her granddaughters companion with disdain and nodded an acknowledgement, "Tristan."

"Evening Emily," he slapped on a charming smile.

"I doubt your parents would approve of such familiarity, Tristan." Her tone was conversational and one could almost have passed the comment off as a joke, but that was only if one were blind and didn't see the murderous rage in her icy eyes. It didn't last however, as she smiled sweetly and turned to face Rory once more. "Rory, there's someone I'd like you to meet. His name is Peter, charming fellow. Stay here and I'll fetch him." She was off before anyone had time to respond

"What the hell was that all about?" Tristan asked confused. Emily had always insisted upon familiarity, always keen to replace her granddaughters surname with Dugrey.

Rory shrugged, "She doesn't like you much."

"What do you mean she doesn't like me? Your grandmother loves me." That was true enough, Emily had always made known her approval of Rory and Tristan being a couple, had encouraged it. There were countless conversations where she had 'subtly' shifted talk of almost anything to talk of marriage. Usually, while Tristan was present. In fact, he remembered her shoving him into a jewelersunder pretenses of getting Rory a birthday present and needing his help choosing. Strangely enough, once they had started off in the bracelet section of the store, Emily had made sure they voyaged over to the engagement ring department. So what was up with the cold shoulder?

Before Rory could explain her grandmothers new found contempt for the blonde, Emily was rushing toward them, "Come now Rory, Peter is waiting for you."

Rory allowed herself to be pulled away by her grandmother, she turned her head, intent on offering Tristan an apologetic glance and hopefully making it known to him that she fully planned on rejoining him later, when his comments from earlier flew into her head. Despite his sort of helping her with the whole making sure she didn't break her bones and then saving her the humiliation of walking through hundreds of people in nothing but a bathrobe, he was still very much an asshole. They had not spoken to one another since she had snuck out of his house that morning a few weeks ago, and she had found it disconcertingly easy to fall back into a certain level of comfort when confronted with his presence. She couldn't let it get any further, or pretend nothing had happened, just for the sake of her happiness. They would just keep hurting each other. They always did. It was better to avoid him until avoidance was no longer necessary because they were so far removed from one another's lives. Tonight was a good a night as any to start. A new plan. A new year. A new Tristan-less life.

Just three more hours to go.

* * *

Feel free to comment. 


	5. Five

Hi! So it's becoming a habit for me to apologize for the lateness of each chapter, but I'll do it anyway: I'm really sorry! Truly. I won't say I'll try harder, 'cause that's a lie and I'm not a liar. At least, at the moment I'm not.

Thanks Nat for betaing all the way in NY, you still rock my socks (and my shoes and my nail polish and my toes).

Enjoy )

* * *

Twenty more minutes to go. 

For the first time in years, Tristan found himself unaccompanied at an event he'd really much rather have a companion to. Usually, it wouldn't matter, he'd find one through out the course of the evening, but this time there was only one person he wanted at his side. And god damn it, he couldn't find her.

Ever since Emily had pulled Rory away over two hours ago, Tristan's attention had been monopolized by random people asking after his health, his business, his love life, his tux. And it was a damn good tux, and he looked damn good in it, but fuck, where was Rory? She looked pretty good herself in her designer red dress. Every time he blinked he could picture her as she made her way down the stairs, infinitely relieved to be clothed. The material clung to every fucking contour as she walked and it was no better for his sanity when she was stationary.

But when the obligatory small talk had ended and the randoms dispersed, she was no where in sight. Was she with whoever-the-fuck-Peter? Tristan didn't know what the guy looked like so he had no idea. And to his dismay, most people were paying way too much attention, watching him from the corner of their eyes, knowing that the moment he looked around he was looking for her.

There was a sharp ding from the front of the room and everyone turned to find Richard Gilmore, ready to make a toast to friends, family, the New Year and the rest of the usual crap. Tristan took this opportunity to slowly back out into one of the hallways, quickly turning and making his way up the stairs.

The top floor was completely abandoned, the lights turned off. He opened each door, glancing in as he searched for her. There were a lot of things to figure out, and he wanted to get it all straightened out before the New Year. Which, by the way, was only thirteen minutes away and with every passing second, it became more and more apparent that he was not going to find her, which only served to frustrate him to no end and by the time he was at the last door, rather than opening it and glancing inside, Tristan shoved it open, reveling slightly in the loud bang it made as it struck the wall. He glared as the couple inside the room jumped apart, breathing heavily and quickly began throwing clothes back on.

In the darkened room, he caught a flash of long brunette hair. He watched with his heart in his throat - along with everything he had ever eaten - as the hair frantically swayed in the moonlight as she threw her pretty dress over her head. He watched as in slow motion the two began walking out of the room, the girl ducking her head in embarrassment as they brushed past him. The boy, glanced over his shoulder as they went down the hall, tossing a haphazard "happy new year, man" behind him.

Tristan stood there dazed, staring after the teenage couple. Shaking his head, he stalked into the room, slamming the light on. As he made his way to the bed, planning on sitting the remainder of the night in there, he caught his reflection in the mirror by the wall. Staring at the angry man before him, he was shocked to see the tears that had begun to pool in his eyes. Blinking them away, Tristan turned his attention to his surroundings. Fuck, this was exactly the place he needed to be in. Rory's room. Her bathrobe lay crumpled on the floor, thrown off the bed by the two who had just occupied the room. He walked around, standing by her dresser. He grabbed the fluffy white robe, tossing it on her bed and glancing around the room, not sure of what to do next. He spied the clock on the bedroom wall, 11.51.

His eyes fell on the balcony door. Fresh air. Not _that_ was exactly what he needed right now. Stepping out into the cold air, he took a deep breath, attempting to release all the anger. Maybe this was a good thing. A sign that they were never meant to be together. That thought, however, was not one he was ready to dwell on just yet, if the aching and sinking feeling in his stomach was anything to go by.

He leaned against the railing, taking in the garden below. He could just make out two figures near the back of the garden, huddling together for warmth and laughing. Momentarily, there was silence as the taller one leaned forward. A few whispered words later and the small figure was laughing heartily. Tristan straightened subconsciously. He leaned as far forward as possible, squinting in the dark. As the two moved even closer to each other in an embrace, he could just barely make out the flash of red. It was enough.

**xxx**

Rory smiled as Peter pulled her closer. He was nice, funny, easy going. A welcome change from her grand mothers usual chosen suitors. Although he was still incredibly handsome, that was something her grandmother never wavered on. Dark hair, kind green eyes, a killer smile. And now that she was pressed up against him, she could tell he had the body to go with it all.

"What time is it?" She murmured against his coat.

Peter glanced at his watch, "Five more minutes." He quickly pulled her back to him, continuing the slow sway. They could barely hear the music inside, but it didn't matter. Rory was beginning to take a liking to him. Actually, she had taken a liking to him within moments of meeting.

For his part, Peter was enamored with the brunette. From Emily's list of accomplishments, he had figured her to be a stuck up bitch, but she was just the opposite. He pulled her further into his warm embrace as he felt her shiver, and Rory smiled again, holding him tighter, liking the way his hands traveled slowly up and down her back. She closed her eyes, only to fling them open seconds later.

"Rory!"

She pulled away from Peter slightly, her mouth dropping open as Tristan ran toward them, eyes blazing with fury. Ever the true gentleman, Peter immediately put himself between his date and the enraged man running at them.

"Hey-"

He was cut off as Tristan finally reached them, shoving the man away, outraged at the intimate way he was touching Rory. Grabbing her by the arms, he backed her up, mindless of the shock registering on her face. He had to tell her this, she had to know, and it had to be said now.

"Ror. We need to talk, I have to-"

By this time, Peter had gotten up from the ground, recomposed himself and assessed the situation. He didn't know what the hell was going on, but he knew that he had just been very unceremoniously shoved to the floor and now his assailant was manhandling the beautiful girl that reminded him of fragile china. What did he think he was doing, grabbing her like that? Chivalry getting the better of him - or maybe it was just male pride- he paced himself, before taking a run at Tristan.

Rory screamed as all of a sudden Tristan was gone, a loud thud to her right alerting her to his new position under Peter on the dirt. Always mindful of others, she glanced toward the house, silently thanking the heavens that no one had heard the commotion. She watched as the two men wrestled on the cold ground below, Peter momentarily on top. She flinched as he delivered two swift punches to Tristan's face, grimacing as blood began to flow from his nose. She knew that she should try and end it, and she had the overwhelming urge to bring Tristan close and clean him up. But this was his own damn fault, he started it. And Peter, he shouldn't have gone after Tristan like that. They were both idiots. With that final thought, Rory stormed off to the party.

**xxx**

It was 12:45 and none of the guests were leaving. Tristan glanced inside the room where most were still converged, no way could he get through there without questioning glances and barely suppressed whispers. He turned back into the kitchen, keeping the ice pack over his bruised eye and setting off in search for Rory a second time that evening.

This time when he opened her bedroom door, he was relieved to find her lying on the bed, and not a couple of horny teenagers.

"Go away." It was obvious she had been crying.

Tristan reached for the light switch, but then thought better of it. If she hadn't turned the light on, then he wouldn't bother her more by doing so. Closing the door softly, he entered the room and stopped, once more unsure of how to proceed.

Rory was facing the wall, a box of tissues nestled in her arms. This was not the way she had planned on spending New Years Eve - crying her eyes out, a snotty nose and red wine spilled over her dress. What was wrong with Tristan? Why couldn't he just let it go. He was the one who kept avoiding her, he was the one who told her he regretted ever meeting her. She had tried to patch things up when she went to his house, but as soon as he had entered, glaring and sullen, her demeanor had suddenly changed and she became a defensive bitch.

That's why she had resolved never to go through the cycle again. They fight, break up, have sex and every now and then are officially in a relationship. It wasn't going to work for her any more. She was sick of constantly crying over him. But he made it so damn hard to get over him. You'd think getting rid of someone who makes you so sad would be easy.

She felt him sit on the edge of the bed, but didn't turn around, hoping he'd get the hint and leave. The sooner he did, the sooner she could start the letting go process. Again. But Tristan Dugray was not one to be deterred. He placed his warm hand on her shoulder, gently coaxing her to turn around. Lying on her back now, Rory turned her face away, not wanting to look at him. Knowing one glance was all it would take to completely break down. They sat in silence, each wondering what was about to happen. Tristan trailed his fingers from her shoulder, leaving a tingling path down to her stomach, where he stopped.

"I can't."

She waited patiently for him to continue.

"I can't 'go away'." Rory tried to turn her body away once more, but he held her in place, not willing to allow her to refocus her attention anywhere else. He mentally went through the speech he had been preparing for over three hours now. He would apologize for everything, even the bits that weren't his fault, he'd apologize for letting them get in the way. He'd apologize for being such an idiot when it came to her, and he'd apologize for making her sad, and doubtful- both of his sincerity and her own, and making her cry. He'd beg for forgiveness, plead with her to understand how much he needed, wanted, craved, loved her, how much it hurt that she wasn't a part of his life. Make her understand how desperately in love he was with her and he couldn't imagine any other sort of life.

Tristan opened his mouth, ready to make her understand, every sentence worded perfectly. Every word placed strategically for maximum meaning. And then she turned to him, finally. She turned to face him, waiting for his next words. Even in the darkness of the room, with nothing but the moonlight illuminating them, he could see her eyes clearly. Red rimmed and puffy from crying so much, but her iris' were still startlingly blue. And staring into them, he forgot it all. Every goddamn unnecessary word in his stupidly long spiel. The only words that came out, unbidden and subconscious, the only ones he hadn't needed to map out, were the only ones that she wanted to hear.

"I love you."

She said nothing, but observed. He looked so lost, all terrified eyes and escaping tears and confusion. She could tell he meant it, but had no clue how to react. Her heart had done a million summersaults in the split second after hearing it, but she was too smart to let nothing but her heart guide her. That was how she got into the mess with him in the first place.

He waited for a reaction. Anything that acknowledged his words. Within moments, he got it. Without a word, she turned her head away, and he could feel her start sobbing again. Her body began to shake and she gasped for air, head throbbing from the cries escaping her.

Tristan dropped the ice pack to the floor, leaning over her. He knew she wanted nothing more than for him to leave right then, but he wasn't going to give up. He adjusted his body to lay behind her, slipping his arms around her frame, pinning her arms to her sides and pulling her into him. He pressed his face into the back of her warm neck, lips tenderly coming into contact with the smooth skin.

His presence was alarmingly comforting, and she didn't know whether to be pleased or afraid that she needed him so badly and he was there. Within moments, the crying ceased and all that could be heard was her erratic breathing and his low murmuring.

* * *

Ok. Next chapter I will explain the history and everything, I swear. I just kinda forgot to insert it in here. Hope you liked it, reviews are greatly appreciated :D 


	6. Six

Christ, it's been a while hey? I wrote this chapter loads of times and then scrapped it 'cause it sucked. Then for a while I just had nothing to write. Then a couple weeks ago I realized there hadn't been an update in over a year and that's pretty slack on my part so here's this.

XXX

_It had started with fragments of glass showering the kitchen floor in front of the stove and coffee seeping into the tiles. His proposal had caught her completely off guard, so unexpected amidst a conversation over which food groups could be cut out completely._

_He navigated her around the shards - necessary as all form of conscious thought and the ability to move for herself had fled her body the moment he had voiced his request. Standing in front of the shiny fridge adorned with hastily scrawled grocery lists and phone messages and magnets that her mother had taken to sending once a fortnight he got down on one knee._

_The elegant silver ring her grandparents had given her was gently slid off her index finger as he repeated the question. She must have nodded because Tristan quickly placed the silver band on her ring finger, a huge grin on his face. He stood up but her gaze never left the ring which had suddenly gained so much more meaning. Millions of thoughts raced through her mind - telling her mother, grandmother, Lane, Paris, his parents, his grandfather, his family who hated her, the dress she had seen in a store front a month ago. There was so much to do and everything had- _

_"Come back to me, Ror." Tristan's soft teasing words brought her back to the present situation and she grasped the reality of it all. And her eyes widened and filled with surprise and... anger? That couldn't be right. Surely. Placing her palms on his chest she pushed him away, Tristan barely avoiding landing ass first on the glass. _

_"You proposed to me in the **kitchen**?" She waved her arms around indignantly, indicating their surroundings. So it wasn't the most romantic place, but it couldn't possibly be his fault. He had known for quite sometime that he was head over heels in love with her, and there was no doubt that at some stage in the nearish future a proposal would be inevitable, and she was in the same state of head over heeledness as he, but it was only moments ago as she had been lecturing the importance of fast food and singing the praises of the takeout joint three blocks down, in that moment as her eyes filled with passion over such an inane topic (words he'd never voice if he valued his extremities) that he realized that he didn't want to wait for the nearish future. He wanted her right then and he wanted her to assure him that they'd be together for quite some time to come. _

_Granted, he could have waited a week. Got a ring - something stylish and elegant and personalized, planned a romantic dinner with all her favorite foods and given a charming speech highlighting all the reasons for his asking before actually asking. But waiting patiently had never been his forte - despite all the waiting he had done for this particular girl, it seemed a waste of precious time to wait longer. Besides, in the entirety of their relationship he had never known Rory to be the kind of girl who fussed over these sorts of things. She was more comfortable having a six month anniversary celebration on his couch rather than at a fancy establishment. Then again, she was a girl. And this was a pretty important occasion. Maybe he **should** have waited that extra week and gone the whole nine yards._

XXX

_Rory watched him from the three feet of distance between them. She was semi-fuming over his decision to ask at such an inappropriate location. Not that it mattered seeing as he had proposed and done it quite well for where they were and she certainly enjoyed the spontaneity, but with Tristan Dugrey it was grand romantic gestures she had expected should a proposal arise. _

_All of a sudden the confusion on his face melted and gave way to a look she had grown to adore (not that she'd ever admit it if she valued her dignity). A half smile, half smirk, quirked eyebrow, glinty eyed look. Which meant only one thing._

_"Mary," His voice was teasing and smug, and the word came out like he was half singing it, "Would you like me to re-propose to you? In a manner more befitting what you obviously had planned in that eerily-scheduled mind of yours."_

_"Hey!" She reached out, slapping his chest, "I just like things to go the way I like them to go. And I had nothing planned." She crossed her arms defensively over her chest, and looked away with a slight 'humph'. Well, she had a bit planned. She had hoped to be wearing a pretty dress, with her hair in loose curls and he would be wearing one of those tuxes (or at least some pants that didn't have the Nike symbol on them) that were tailored to every part of his (mighty fine) body and it would be around eight in the evening if they were having dinner otherwise it would be eleven and they'd be somewhere with a magnificent view and moonlight. That's all she had planned. But instead it was eight in the morning, it was raining, and the only view out her kitchen window was of someone else's kitchen. Furthermore, she was wearing worn in gray sweats and a loose shirt that had once belonged to a guest at the Independence Inn in the early 90s, a shirt that caused Tristan endless agony over its hygiene. _

_So lost in her thoughts was she that Tristan's change in location had gone unnoticed until she was backed up against the fridge and his hands were on her hips, fingers doing that light little dance he had choreographed so well._

_He leaned in, nuzzling her face and she shivered at the contact with the scruffy stubble covering his chin. "I promise I'll get you a ring with a big diamond and gaudy flowers and a date at that new place uptown. Anything you want, baby." He made his way to her neck, sucking lightly on the smooth skin before placing little kisses along the graceful curve, "But right now, you need to call in sick so I can make love to you until you pass out from exhaustion."_

XXX

"_How do you know?"_

_The brunette shook out her hair, making sure it had not lost the luster copious amounts of conditioner and exclusive salon spray had helped to achieve. It had cost her a pretty penny, and heads would roll if it wouldn't last throughout the day. So far, so good. She glanced at the redhead to her right, currently busy reapplying designer lip stick to her designer lips, "How else? He told Hollister."_

_As her lips were already in the O shape appropriate in the applying of lipstick, the redhead (Marisol) did not have to go the extra mile in conveying her surprise._

"_Hollister? Vincent Hollister?" Her friend nodded, this was indeed the same (and only) Hollister that was working in the building, "What for? Everyone knows he's the biggest gossip here. Sarah told him she was going on a blind date during her lunch break, the doorman knew before she even stepped off the elevator."_

_Katarina (the brunette; the Harvard graduate; the Third in Command, second only to Tristan despite being his elder sister – their father strongly believed in allowing only a male to become CEO of the company he had worked all his life for) rolled her eyes at her friend's naiveté, "**Obviously**," she stressed the word as she searched for her own lip gloss, "he **wants **people to know. After all, he did bag that little bitch. Half the guys in the office wanted to do her. Not for long, apparently Little Miss isn't as good a lay as the fantasies she stars in would have them believe." This last part was said with as much subtle bitterness as an elephant might deliver, for before Rory Gilmore's arrival one month prior, she had been atop the list of most bangable girls in the office. Rory's sweet personality and affable nature saw to it that Katarina was placed firmly at the number two spot._

"_Oh. Fair's fair, I guess. Winner does get bragging rights." Marisol didn't much care who was on top of the men's to-do list, mainly because she understood how fickle they all were and were she to offer herself to one, they would jump at the opportunity. She had been having a trying time the past few weeks, listening to her sometimes friend gripe about Rory. She had no qualms with her, and given the givens, she understood why a man would rather have Rory Gilmore beneath him than the bitch facade Katarina presented. Not that she'd dare tell Katarina, not for fear mind you, she'd just never hear the end of it._

_With a final glance toward the mirror, Marisol led the way out of the ladies' room, her mind already on the shoes she was going to wear to whatever party she would deign to attend that evening. Katarina too had lost interest in the conversation, already dialing her hair stylist to order more of that fabulous spray while simultaneously planning the beginnings of a merger that would bring in hundreds of clients and millions of dollars._

_Rory Gilmore, however, was having a slightly more difficult time forgetting the conversation. She stood in the (quite spacious) bathroom stall, eyes glazing over, one hand placed on the door for support. Suddenly, breathing seemed a lot harder than it usually was. And was it hot in here? Because she could have sworn the air conditioner had been on when she entered. _

XXX

_Tristan sat at his desk, staring at the website before him._

_In his line of business he had to make these sorts of decisions all the time, choices that could make or break him. If he went with A, there was the possibility of loss. Loss of respect, trust, status. Just as likely, however, was the prospect of a pat on the back and a toast in his honor. _

_He had known Rory for many years but this was the first time he had been invited to her mothers birthday. The first time he had had to choose a gift for the woman he knew had everything and found pleasure in odd things such as furry alarm clocks and hello kitty cutlery sets. But there was always the chance he'd get her something **too** childish that she wouldn't appreciate. He scrolled down the page, taking in the assortment of knick knacks that he hoped to god Rory would not inherit a taste for._

_Speaking of the devil, she had just stormed into his office. Stormed? Wait that couldn't be right. She should be strolling in with a coy smile, like she usually did on the days when they had time for a quickie before work. Not to mention the prospect of another one during their lunch break._

"_Ror, I was just trying to figure out what to get your-"_

_Whatever he was about to say was lost as she slammed her hand on top of his desk. He looked down in confusion as she pulled her hand away to reveal the familiar ring that he had given to her only three months prior. Confusion gave way to something he had never felt before, a mixture of terror, fear, misery, heart break and the strangest of all, the sensation that he knew it was too good to have been true._

"_I can't believe I trusted you!" she almost snarled, leaning close, "You're pathetic, you're scum, you're- you're- just, it's over! You have not changed one bit since high school, still the same arrogant jerk with something to prove."_

_He was drawing a blank. What could he possibly have done wrong in the three hours since they had last been in one another's company?_

"_Rory-"_

"_I don't want to hear **anything** you have to say. I'm going home to pack my things, I'll be gone by the time you finish work." She left the office in much the same state she had arrived. _

_Tristan sat blinking momentarily before his reflexes kicked in and he caught up with her as she stood waiting for the elevators._

_Making sure no one was in the vicinity, he began, "What did I do?"_

_Her eyes widened, shocked that even **he** would have the audacity to ask that. The elevator arrived, and as it was full the pair spent the agonizingly slow descent in confused and angry silence._

_Upon arrival in the vacant company garage, all pretenses at civility dissolved._

"_Just what the hell is your problem? You charge in my office, accusing me of doing – I don't even know what your accusing me of. I don't know Ror! And then you break up with me? We're **engaged**, Rory. We're supposed to talk this sort of stuff out before we call it quits." He stepped away from her, running a hand through his hair in frustration, "Christ, one minute I'm fucking my fiancée and the next she's breaking up with me because she's insane." _

_Tristan had muttered that last remark to the floor, but that did nothing to prevent Rory from hearing it. Which she did. And which of course was the most possible wrong thing he could have said. He had had a valid point, they should have talked it out. Now there was no point because it was blatant that he was a big fat jerk._

"_I think you forgot the minute in between where you run off and tell your friends all about your 'little adventures in the sack.'" That last part was a direct quote from Vincent Hollister. Being a reporter, Rory had gone straight to the source of her anguish and questioned him about what exactly he and Tristan had conversed about._

'_I'm surprised you have to ask. Does he pound you so hard it gives you amnesia?' and so on and so forth. He was a charmer, that Vince._

_Tristan, however, was taken aback by this new information. He had never discussed the intimate part of his relationship with anyone. Not even his best friend, Evan Rees. Not least because he knew Rory (or her mother) would castrate him, but because he didn't want to share her with anyone. Not even snippets of the things she was capable of._

"_I don't know where you got your information, but it's false. I swear it." He had already decided that yelling would not calm her down and diffuse the situation. He would beg if need be, anything to keep her in his life. _

_Rory looked into his eyes, the pleading blue staring back at her. She had known many men like him before, and they were all the same, all sorry when what they wanted was about to be yanked from their grasps. She had thought Tristan was different (fourteen months of dating – three of which were spent engaged to him - were evidence of this), but now she wasn't so sure._

_She shook her head apologetically, turned from him and climbed into the car he had just recently bought for her. She was too far gone in her anger and feelings of betrayal to think twice._

XXX

After that, she had been unable to complete the assignment she was there to do in the first place and asked her editor to reassign her to something else, anything else, and anywhere else. Unfortunately the story she had really wanted to cover before being transferred to Tristan's firm had been given away to another writer. Her unhappy editor had sulkily agreed to relocate her elsewhere which is how she ended up working for the tiny magazine having called in a favor to its editor.

Despite the drastic reduction of interesting stories (or for that matter interesting anything), she was much more content in the knowledge that the tiny office was clear across town and there was no chance of running into her ex-fiancée on a lunch break. Despite the freedom she had to write anything she chose, she was paid a pittance – barely enough to pay the rent of the crappy apartment she had take on. Within a month she had taken on a new magazine, a trashy tabloid this time round, but with a substantially more impressive salary.

She had not taken any of his calls, not listened to any of his messages or replied to any of his emails until eventually, he stopped attempting to contact her. And both quietly got on with their lives until four months later when a drenched and worse for the wear Rory had turned up on his doorstep in the middle of the night.

And now, here they were, New Years Day, lying in her tiny bed at her grandmothers house. Both awake, both aware of the others alert state, yet neither saying a word.

Awkward.

XXX

Tristan sighed, pulling Rory closer under the covers. This was nice. He hadn't woken up so content since… well since the last time he had pulled her closer under the covers the day she had ended their engagement.

He stared over her head at the pale pink wall, wondering why it couldn't be easier. Everyone else he knew seemed to have it so together when it came to relationships. Surely he and Rory couldn't be the only two so clueless about the entire concept.

He was pulled from his thoughts as Rory finally took it upon herself to break the silence, uttering the four words no one wants to hear.

"We need to talk."

XXX

Yep, there you have it. I just wanted to get the history out of the way and I'm sorry it's a pretty weak chapter. Hopefully chapter seven won't be a year away. Also! The next chapter WILL be betad/betaed-... edited. By someone other than myself, so you can look forward to that D

P.s. I'll update my other stories, too. At some point before I turn 40. That's 22 years that I have to churn out another chapter.


	7. Seven

So, I lied about two things: Updating within a year and betaing this chapter. I did neither. I've been thinking about my GG fics for a while and in a sudden burst of self ass-kickery I looked through all my notes and patched this together quicksmart. Which is why a) it's so much shorter than my usual chapters and b) it's kinda choppy. It's 230am Saturday at the mo and I just got back from the most ass kicking concert and I'm tired as all get out so I'm going to write this up as well as I can and when I wake up later I'll smooth it out. Hopefully the result will be something worth reading.

And here's a quick sum up on account of it's been a year: Rory and Tristan were once engaged; broke up for some vague reasons which last chapter we discovered had to do with Rory's insecurities. There was a New Year's shindig at Emily and Richard's place where Rory and Tristan ended up in bed together (they weren't naughty though, it was angst and stuff). Here is the continuation.

XXX

"I never told Hollister anything. You know that, don't you?"

The fact that he wasn't even asking if she knew, the fact that he was saying it as something he had realized quite some time ago and had accepted, if somewhat bitterly, hurt more than Rory could have imagined.

Without so much as turning to face him, she nodded warily, eyes intently watching the wall before her. Tristan's arms were still around her warm skin, and the quiet conversational tone he was using reminded her of similar mornings when they would lie wrapped up in one another, talking of nothing and everything. She had lived for those mornings, the knowledge that she was safe and loved and the promise of forever. It was a familiarity that was, quite frankly, unnerving.

If this kept on he might actually succeed in talking her back into a relationship. Unless that wasn't what was on his mind. He has after all been fooling around with that Charlotte or whatever her name was; maybe he was just after some closure? Maybe he was moving on and just needed to get over this last little hiccup before committing seriously to that skanky whore?

Why didn't he want to rekindle their relationship? What an ass. Had she spent fourteen months with him for _nothing_? Rory slipped out of his embrace, angry that he was such a womanizing prick and that he was the sweetest man she had ever met and that she was a bit irrational. What an ass. Although in all reality, what an _ass_. She allowed herself a moment to admire the outline of his behind in the mirror on the opposite wall.

More than a little miffed at her actions Tristan sat up too, leaning against the headboard and raising an eyebrow, "So let me get this straight. You knew I didn't tell him, yet you broke off our engagement regardless? We were together over a year Rory; don't you think you at least owe me the truth?"

Oh, yes. He was definitely after closure. But how could she provide him that when she herself didn't know the reasons. Well, she knew the many tiny reasons. The constant arguments and petty fights, his irritating irritatingness, her anal retentive attention to detail that drove him insane... but that wasn't enough to completely destroy them, was it?

She wasn't about to admit that all this pain and heart break was caused by her idiocy.

"Fuck."

Rory watched as Tristan made his way to the door, stopping only briefly to put on his shoes.

"This whole time I thought it was me. I thought I was the one responsible for fucking everything up. There hasn't been a day that's gone by I didn't ask myself what I did wrong, how I could have made it better. But there was nothing I could have done, was there? You wouldn't have let me. Everything? All this? It's all on you, Gilmore. I'm done."

He didn't even look back as he closed the door behind him.

He was right. Of course he was right. Being with Tristan had always felt so temporary, even at their happiest. She always felt like something would come along, some tiny thing would tip the scales and they'd slide right off the edge. And when they hit the floor, who'd be there to pick up the pieces? The only person who could help her would be lying broken right beside her.

In hindsight, it was quite clearly this that had led Rory to end things the way she had. And it was this that was responsible for the feeling of guilt that plagued her ever since.

It _was _her fault.

XXX

"How did you find Peter, Rory?"

She should have figured the conversation would turn to this one way or another. In fact, she would have been seriously concerned over her grandmother's health if the questioning of her love life hadn't of begun within the next few moments.

Now, how to go about answering the question neutrally?

"Everything was going swell until Tristan showed up, beat the crap out of him and I spent the rest of the night crying in Tristan's arms where I realized that I may still have feelings for him."

Okay, maybe not. She wasn't ready to admit her feelings toward her ex-fiancée aloud just yet. Least of all to her grandmother. Especially when the admittance of such feelings would lead to more questioning and reprimands and the admission that these were not, in fact, newly discovered feelings.

So she just settled for a, "He was very nice, Grandma."

"Yes, he is a very respectable man. Very successful too, isn't that right Richard? Did you know that, Rory?"

No, Peter wasn't the type to brag about his job and how much money it earned him. But she had her suspicions that he wasn't exactly hard up for cash; as if Emily would set her up with anyone under the six figure mark.

"We didn't really talk about our jobs."

Emily took this as a good sign. But rather than being content with it, she had to pursue the matter further, "And what did you talk about?"

What did they talk about? She couldn't remember, all she knew was that given a few weeks she could very easily fall in love with him. A dreamy expression crossed her face until she remembered that she might (or might not) be in love with Tristan, and she had had her fair share of being caught between two men.

Fortunately, Richard chose this moment to make himself heard. He was a firm believer of not saying anything unless it either brought you into a great deal of money, or kept you out of situations you'd rather not be in. This had more to do with the latter, as he recognized his granddaughter's plight. Anyone who had been in the firing line of Emily's questioning would gladly help out another in the same predicament.

"Emily, I do believe this is precisely what you promised Lorelei you would not do, as a New Year's resolution."

"I'm not meddling, Richard. I'm merely asking Rory. You don't mind, do you dear?"

"Actually Grandma... can I have some more cake?"

"Of course. Abigail! Bring Rory another slice, will you? And for god's sake, is it too much to ask for a decent cup of tea?"

Abigail scurried toward the kitchen to carry out her orders.

"When will he call you?"

Rory glanced up, eyes widening, "Who?"

Emily nodded, her suspicions confirmed. Nevertheless, she carried on, "Peter, dear. When will Peter be calling you again?"

"I suppose that's up to him," she trailed off, not really wanting to expand on the matter any further.

"And Tristan?"

Rory choked on her coffee.

"What, uh, what about Tristan?"

"That WAS his car pulling out of the driveway this morning, wasn't it? He drives a black one, doesn't he Richard?"

"What kind of car the boy drives doesn't concern me, Emily. Nor should it concern you. Who Rory see's is her business." He hadn't bothered looking up once from the paper he was reading, feeling the matter was inane and not wishing to discuss it any further.

"Oh, I'm not seeing Tristan. He was just-"

"Honestly, Rory, you and Tristan really ought to stop this." Emily cast a disapproving look in the general direction of the driveway, as if he was waiting for her there, "That boy is nothing but trouble."

She really hated the way her grandmother referred to Tristan as a boy. It was her way of not only disapproving of him, but degrading him further, constantly reminding Rory that she was too good for the likes of him. Rory desperately wanted to remind her grandmother that up until the two had broken it off, Tristan was at the top of her favorite people list. In fact, Rory would bank on him being in the top five, possibly even above Lorelei AND her interior decorator.

But defending him would mean getting into the argument she had been trying to avoid all morning, so she said nothing. This, however, allowed Emily leeway to continue her tirade against Tristan. Halfway through the part where Tristan was responsible for everything that had gone wrong in Rory's life, she couldn't take it anymore.

"It wasn't his fault."

Emily stopped mid sentence, looking at her granddaughter questioningly, "I beg your pardon?"

"The reason we broke up, grandma. It was my fault-"

"Nonsense, Rory. I know exactly what happened; your mother gave me all the details."

"The details are wrong. Mom doesn't know what happened, you don't know what happened. Damnit, Tristan barely knows what happened! For months you've hated him for a reason you were so sure of, and it's completely unfair! He doesn't deserve that." She calmed down, realizing her own words. "He doesn't deserve that."

What went unsaid was that the reason for Tristan being labeled the anti-Christ within the Gilmore household was completely her fault. She hadn't bothered to correct what they thought was the truth, knowing if she did how disappointed they would all be in her.

Emily sat in silence, taking in this new information. She knew, she just KNEW, that Tristan was right for Rory. Peter had suddenly vanished from her mind, a Dugrey was much more suitable for her granddaughter. She was absolutely positive that whatever Rory had done was forgivable, despite the facts that up until moments ago Tristan was irredeemable. How quickly the fallen can rise.

XXX

Rory had perfected the art of list making when she was four. At that age the most complex it had ever gotten was choosing which cereal was her favorite (Fruit Loops had won by a fraction because 'they're colorful' had seemed like an important contributing factor at the time). Since then pro and con lists had played a part in every major decision she had ever made. And for the first time in her life, list making had failed her.

It wasn't so much a question of Should I Get Back With Tristan, Why/Why Not? It was more Will Tristan Take Me Back Even Though I Was A Colossal Bitch And He Really Really Doesn't Like Me Right Now. But it's hard to make a list when that list depends solely on another person's mindset. Rory knew she was being selfish as all get out. She had no right to so much as ask him forgiveness, and he was fully justified in leaving that morning. But it was human nature to go after the things that made you happy, and Tristan… well he was her happy.

The past four months Rory had carried around the feeling like something was constantly on the tip of her tongue. Like she was on the verge of something, on the edge of somewhere. It had driven her crazy, the feeling like she had forgotten something but had no idea what. The anxiousness of coming home to no one and nothing except a large dumpster outside her window that served as a musical instrument to the elements of nature.

She needed Tristan. And damned if she was going to let a little thing like him wanting her out of his life stop her.

XXX

Thus endeth another chapter and I have a pretty good idea of some stuff that's going to happen in the next one. Let's hope for sometime this year?


End file.
